Evocation of Destruction
by Valora
Summary: In the slums of Kaon, in the illegal training facility for gladiators, a young mech dies in his spark, but he is reborn- as Cybertron's worst nightmare.


Author's note: To some of you, this may look familiar- I decided to try and revive my story "Transformers: Dawn", but I am planning to separate the different strings of the plot and turn them into individual stories. Firstly, this should make it much easier to read (and write!) the story and secondly, it will allow me to actually get the separate plots into a sensible order and timeline. This way, I can complete different stories which add up to one Universe but which can stand alone as well.

**Contains coarse language, nudity (haha), sexual themes and violence.**

**Transformers belongs to Hasbro/ Takara**

Transformers: Dawn

**Evocation of Destruction**

Chapter One:

**The Value of Life**

Gray metal became red, then orange and finally white as it glowed and melted away in the crematorium's flames. Another dead fuel line popped in the heat, its dried contents setting the fire ablaze and shedding more light on the single figure standing in front of the furnace. The young mech, barely out of his youngling cycles, carried a blank look on his face, his body scratched and grimy. He sank down on moss colored knees, a thick tear rolling from his red optics. His voice was barely above a whisper, but still it sounded strained and shaky. "You said you'd always be there... how could you say that..." His hands were shaking, a sob rocked his body. He had been shot, twice. One projectile had went into his stomach, the other right into his spark chamber, killing him instantly. His murderers had fled the scene of crime, leaving nothing behind but a mangled corpse. Getting the authorities to investigate the murder was useless- since they were all bribed the case would be dismissed as unsolvable, but the identity of his murderers was no secret anyway. The two major gangs of Kaon were in a constant state of war, if you belonged to one of them, you were a deadly enemy to the other.

Zapper had spent all the credits he had had left to grant his father a decent funeral. At the time he'd leave the crematorium, there would be a big nothing waiting for him. His father had been the only one he had been able to rely on, the only bot he had had in this world. Now he was gone and no force in the universe could bring him back. Zapper was alone. He had no home, no education, no one he could go to. It was hopeless. He watched the flames as they melted down the last remaining parts of what had once been his family.

"He was a good mech, your father." The deep voice of an elder mech echoed in the almost empty room. Zapper turned around, standing up abruptly. "Always got the job done, always reliable, never left any evidence. Was one of our best mechs, your father. I'm gonna miss him." The taller mech went to stand beside Zapper, watching the dead mech's body being reduced to a smoldering puddle of hot metal. The young mech observed him warily. He was a bit shorter than his father had been, his black and cyan armor polished neatly. He was carrying a medium sized gun in a silver holster on his thigh. Zapper knew it was illegal to carry a gun in public, but ignored it. Here in the slums, it was not unusual for bots to carry weapons and for many bots, it even was the wiser decision not to leave their dwelling unarmed. He had seen this mech talking to his father once or twice, but whenever he had come to visit them in their little shack down in the slums he had been told to go outside for a while.

"What do you want?" The elder mech's green optics lit up briefly before he looked down at the other.

"Well, some time ago your father asked me to make sure you were taken care of in case something happened to him. It seems he really cared for you and since we were getting along quite well at work, I agreed. So now that, well, something _has_ happened to him, I've come to pick you up."

"What if I don't _want_ to come with you?" The younger mech snarled.

"It would be kinda rude to not respect your creator's last wish, wouldn't it?"

Zapper sighed, shoulders sagging. "You're right, I guess." The other mech nodded, then turned and walked towards the exit. Zapper hesitated, glancing at the flames for a last time before following the elder.

The place his father's co- worker took him to made Zapper feel uneasy. It was some underground gathering place and full of dubious bots. Some bedraggled hookers stood at the entrance, their optics hollow, their cheap armor sparse and dirty. They went through a pretty crowded, low- ceilinged hall, broken furniture and dirty sale booths standing here and there. "Just keep walking. Don't make any optic contact. Just ignore them." Zapper tried to do as he was told, but found it hard not to stare at all the shaggy bots around him. He had known there were places like this in the slums of Kaon, but his father had always taken care so Zapper didn't have any contact with bots like these. Now he was both fascinated and scared by their proximity. Some of the bots looked like they were on drugs. Well, they probably were. At the other side of the hall, a door was opened and he was told to go in. It led to another house of which the entrance was guarded by two bulky silver mechs. It seemed like they recognized the mech Zapper was with, nodding at him in approval.

"What about the kid?" One of the guards asked.

"That's Duran's son. I'm taking him to the boss."

"Heard they blasted the old slagger." The other guard stated. Zapper had to suppress the need to attack the mech for insulting his father like that. He instead opted for ignoring the comment.

"Yeah, it's a shame, really. Must have been someone from the eastern gang."

"Damn slag- eating fraggers. I swear if I get my hands on one of them I'll-"

"Yeah, I know. Now let us pass."

"See ya, Kronos." Kronos. So that was his name. They passed the guards and entered the house. It looked so different on the inside from what Zapper was used to, it actually seemed out of place in the slums of Kaon. There was expensive furniture in the spacey rooms, decorated with all kinds of strange items he had never seen before. He was led into some kind of office where a mech in his late middle ages was sitting behind a large desk. He looked up from what he had been doing and smiled.

"Ah, Kronos. I haven't seen you for a while." He spoke with a thick accent, his voice smoky and a little rough. "I think I have a job for- who is that behind you?" He leaned to the side to get a better look at Zapper, who was currently hiding behind the other mech. Kronos grasped the young one's shoulders firmly, pulling him forward.

"Remember Duran? I had to promise to take care of his son in case something happened to him. I have to admit I don't quite know what to do with him so I thought maybe you had an idea?"

Kronos' boss stood up, examining the young mech critically. "What's your profession, kid?"

Zapper shuffled his feet. "I... worked as a waiter in an oil bar in the north sector for a while but my boss threw me out after I started a brawl, so..."

"I see. So what can you actually _do_?"

"I don't know." The boss frowned.

"So you actually can do nothing, is that right?"

"I can read _and _write." Not everybody in the slums was literate. Zapper had never visited a school, but his father had taught him one thing or another.

"Oh _wow_. I must say I'm _impressed_." The elder mech's voice dripped with sarcasm. He poked Zapper's arm.

"You like to fight?"

"My father didn't like me getting into fights."

"I'm not asking about your father, kid. Now answer my question."

Zapper shrugged. "Dunno. I've smashed in a few faceplates in in the last stellar cycles, but it wasn't my fault. The others started it."

"Oh you're such a good boy. But I'll tell you something: you're gonna get yourself killed down here with that attitude. So forget what you learned and start to think." After a few more scrutinizing moments he returned to his desk and sat back down, resuming his work. "Take him to Shred. Maybe he'll have some use for him. I sure don't. You can come back when you've gotten rid of him. Out." Kronos bowed to his boss, pulling Zapper with him while he backed out.

"Who's Shred?" The young bot asked, walking down a rather dark and quiet street beside Kronos.

"Your new boss."

"So what am I supposed to do?"

"You'll see."

"Oh, come on!" Next thing Zapper knew, he was lying on the ground, his cheek aching from the hard slap he had just received.

"Don't whine. I _hate_ whining." The younger one stood up and held up his hands in a defensive pose.

"Okay, okay. But you didn't need to hit me." Kronos scowled, walking down the street a bit further before stepping down a flight of stairs. Zapper decided to stay silent from now on. He wasn't really keen on being hit again. Kronos knocked on a double- winged black door. It creaked open a few moments later, revealing a tall, dark mech with sharp spikes on his shoulders.

"Whaddaya want?"

"I've got a new one for you." He grabbed Zapper roughly, pushing him towards the bigger mech.

"How cute."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't know if he's suited for your purposes, guess he's not aggressive enough, but who knows?"

"Looks ok. We'll see. Bye." With those words Zapper was pulled into the dark hallway and the door was slammed shut behind him. The big bot stared at him evaluatingly, not saying a word.

"Um... are you Shred?" The mech grabbed him by the upper arm roughly and started dragging him down the corridor.

"No. And now shut up." After they had went by a storage room where Zapper was given a blanket (which was more of a rag really) with a lot of holes and an awful stench emanating from it, he was shoved down another corridor. It was barely lit and the floor, the walls and the doors looked rusty. "So. There are a few rules when yer stayin here. First, ya'll obey the coaches. Second, ya'll only speak when yer told to. Third, ya can go 'n' grab some energon once a light cycle, but if ya wanna refuel ya should make sure ya can enforce yer will at the fuel counter. Da others might not be so nice and leave somethin for ya. Four, watch yer back."

With that he was shoved into another room and the door was shut. The big mech had left without any explanation of who he was or what Zapper was supposed to do here. But he was not alone in the room, by far not. There were at least sixty other mechs in here, all of them roughly Zapper's age. A few of them were standing around and talking loudly, others were lazily sitting on the broad benches on both sides of the room. They were all sporting gashes and dents in their armor, some were even repairing themselves, some were recharging. It was quite cold in that room, despite the crowd. Suddenly, the noise of mechs talking and rummaging around stopped to be replaced by an eerie silence. Zapper found all the optics focused on him all of a sudden. Four mechs, just a little older than him, approached him, grinning. The smallest, but also sturdiest of them, an arrogant grin on his face and his armor a light brown except for a few green highlights, spoke.

"What do we have here? What's your name, fledgling?"

"My name's Zapper. Care to explain what's going on here? What is this place?" The brown mech shoved him roughly.

"I'm the one asking the questions here. You're on my stompin' ground now, so watch your mouth."

"Okay okay, no reason to get all aggressive here. I just wanted to ask where I am here." The other mech laughed.

"Have you never heard of Kaon's gladiator academy?" Zapper's optics widened, realization dawning.

"I... oh no. No!" He turned around, banging his fists against the door in a desperate attempt to gain the attention of someone outside. "Let me out! Please, this must be a mistake, I don't belong here! Hello!" He was grabbed from behind and swirled around before he felt his back being crushed against the heavy metal door.

"Hey, who do you think you are? You think you can get out of here? You're not leaving this slaghole for a long time, at least not alive. So why don't you show me what you've got in your subspace pockets?" Zapper cringed.

"I don't have anything."

"Oh really? No credits, no energon, jaam, crookies or phisks?"

"Wha... no, I ain't got no drugs. I told you, I have absolutely _nothing_."

"You should teach that piece of slag a lesson, 'Crusher!" Somebody yelled from somewhere behind the four bots. The request was instantly met with the brown bot's fist in Zapper's gut, who toppled over groaning. Kronos hadn't put much force into his slap earlier, but this hurt like the pit.

"Scuttle, search him." A light blue youngling with almost white optics knelt down next to him and started doing something on Zapper's back, right where his subspace pockets were located. From the feel of it the mech on the floor could only guess it involved magnetic fields, but as soon as it had started, it stopped and Scuttle stood back up, kicking Zapper's side in the progress.

"He told the truth. Slagger ain't got nothin'."

"Told you..." Zapper groaned and coughed up some energon. He didn't dare to move, still lying on his front on the floor, although the others had seemingly lost their interest in him. Most of the mechs in the room returned to what they had been doing before, the talking and the noise resumed. After a few clicks, he finally pushed himself up on his arms heavily. His whole body was shaking from the violence that had been inflicted on him and he dreaded whatever awaited him in this place. Standing up on unsteady legs he started making his way over to the very back of the room where it seemed to be much quieter, trying to avoid all the others that were standing or sitting in his way. He found a vacant spot in the corner, plucking some rubbish from the bench before sitting down and wiping the energon from his lip with the back of his hand.

Gladiator academy? He was slagged. If this place really was the underground training facility he had heard of, he was surrounded by cold killers. He heard a whimper from the other side of the room. It came from a young yellow mech who was reclined on the other bench. His chassis was more mangled than those of the others and he was bleeding energon while an older, white and tan flier tried fixing him, talking to him quietly. Another youngling right next to himself was sobbing into his dirty blanket quietly. Killers? Abused children was more like it.

Zapper pulled his legs close. It was colder in the corner, even more so than in the rest of the room. That was probably the reason why all the sleeping mechs were cuddled together closely. He closed his optics tightly. He didn't want to be here. Why had he gone with Kronos in the first place? Had he lost his mind, blindly trusting a stranger? But regret wouldn't help him now. He was getting tired and although he wasn't quite sure if it was a good idea to fall asleep next to all those strangers, he settled for a light recharge, shivering miserably in the cold.

The room was completely empty when Zapper reactivated his wake subroutines, limbs stiff and aching from the cold. Almost empty. Between some rubbish, the little yellow bot he had seen being repaired before he had fallen into recharge still lay there, but his armor had become gray and was partially crusted with dried energon. He was dead. Zapper shuddered with dread and looked around further. The door was open. Wait. The door was open? That meant he could escape! Heavy boots caused a loud bang to resound in the room when they hit the floor carelessly and carried their owner out into the hallway. He ran to the door he had come in through the last night, only to find it was locked. He threw himself against it, but the heavy steel wouldn't even budge, instead denting his green armor. Maybe there was another way out, yes, there had to be. He needed to get out! He tried the next door, then the next, then the next. They were all closed; all but one.

He stumbled into the room and stopped. Now he knew where the others had disappeared to. The room was just a little cleaner than the other one, full of tables and benches and with an energon dispenser in the corner. The young mechs were all seated at the tables, each sipping their fuel. They were oddly quiet. Zapper felt his fuel tank churn. When had he last refueled? Two light cycles ago? With caution and a watchful optic he walked around all the tables and to the dispenser. He pressed a button and an empty energon cube fell out of it and onto a grating before a few drops of the pink liquid dropped into it. It wasn't even a mouthful. Great. He picked it up and rotated the cube in his hand a little, causing the energon to slop around. His tank sent another painful impulse to his processor. This wouldn't even nearly make him full, but it was probably better than nothing.

Just when he wanted to bring the cube to his mouth to drink, his feet were kicked out from beneath him and he fell, spilling his fuel in the progress. Someone laughed. He turned to look at his attacker, obviously one of (what was his name?)... Crusher's friends, strolling back to his seat, sharing a triumphant handclap with the brown mech he had been abused by at his arrival. Zapper pushed himself up and sat down against the wall, rested his arms on bent knees, buried his face in his arms. How was he supposed to survive here? He couldn't get out, had no proper place to recharge, wasn't even allowed to refuel and the others treated him like slag. Who knew what unpleasant surprises were still waiting for him. He sighed tiredly.

"Here." He looked up. An energon cube, half empty, was practically being shoved into his face, held by the pale mech who had been working on the now dead yellow bot last night. He looked pretty tall now that he stood, his face slim, stern and tired. Zapper hesitated to take the cube.

"Come on, take it. Believe me, you'll need the energy." The younger mech frowned.

"I can't pay you anything for it."

"I'm not selling it. Just take it."

"What did you put in there?"

"Energon, nothing else. Don't worry, it's not a trick."

"Don't you need it yourself?"

"I'll survive. Take it." Finally, the green bot accepted the offer, took the cube and drank quickly. The energon was of a low quality, but he was used to that. It did little to satisfy his tank, but it was at least _something_.

"Thank you." The older one shrugged.

"Never mind. What's your name?"

"Zapper. What's yours?"

"Sliceline. And you should probably get up sooner tomorrow if you want a full ration." Zapper stared at the ground. It seemed this was a mech he could at least talk to sensibly.

"Do you know how I can get out of here?" Sliceline laughed sourly.

"If there was a way out, I wouldn't be here. You see, I-" He turned around suddenly when the door was opened loudly and a huge dark mech, quite, but not all similar to the one who had brought him in after his encounter with 'the boss', his armor sharp and black with brownish silver accents.

"BREAKFAST'S OVER! GET YOUR SORRY AFTS TO THE GYM!" he bellowed. The other mechs started exiting the room not too happily, muttering on their way out. Sliceline held his hand out to help the still sitting mech up. "Come."

The 'gym' was a huge hall with dusty floors and a high ceiling. They were not the only group in here, but the youngest they were. They were divided into two groups. The sound of groaning and tearing metal, of clashing weapons and of aggressive yells filled the air. Fights sprawled through the entire hall, the bots grimy and looking rough. Seeing all those older mechs fighting so brutally filled the young green mech with fear.

"One line!" Their group scurried about in derangement before arranging themselves in a rather sloppy line. "What the frag is this supposed to be? I said ONE LINE!" The young ones shifted until they managed an acceptable formation. The dark mech, obviously their coach, started to pace in front of them. "You know how it works; we'll start with some transform- ups to get going. One!" The whole group transformed. Zapper, caught by surprise a little, hurried to do as they had. Still, the coach had noticed him being slower than the rest and kicked him in the bumper. "Faster, you worthless bag of bolts! Two!" They transformed back into bipedal mode, then into vehicle mode again. After 200 repetitions, when their gears felt like they were on fire and they wanted to drop dead on the spot, it was decided they were limbered up and could start the real training.

They were divided into pairs to practice fist fighting. It came as it obviously had to, with Zapper being paired up with this... Crusher bot. Bonecrusher, as he had been called by the coach. The brown mech grinned evilly and attacked immediately when the common command was shouted. His opponent had much trouble dodging the first assaults and hit the ground hard when a punch landed on his chin. It hurt. But he stood up again, only to receive a kick to the side, which brought him down again. He was shaking now, the practiced hits having struck heavily.

"What, you have a bad boo boo? Wanna go back to your creator and blubber?" Zapper pushed himself up on all fours, panting. He had been in three or four brawls in his whole life, but it hadn't been against mechs being _trained_ to become _gladiators_. It usually took more than two hits to take him down, but this was different. His chance of turning the tide and beating the other mech was close to zero. But he was sure nothing good could come of it if he didn't stand up right now for he could already see the coach glare at him like he'd rip his head off. He did the only thing he could, he stood up. Bonecrusher tried to land another punch in his face, but Zapper ducked and brought his own fist forward, but missed narrowly. Before he realized what was happening, the red mech had already gripped his right fist with both hands and twisted it brutally, sharp fingers slicing through the back of his hand and with a thrust of his palm, he dislocated his fingers. Hot energon squirted out of the wound, he screamed and fell onto his side, clutching the now useless hand to himself.

"What's going on here?!" The coach stomped over to them, optics blazing angrily. Bonecrusher stepped back a bit and shrugged, but said nothing. The adult mech pulled Zapper up on his feet roughly; the young one yowled in pain. The energon dripped to the floor slowly. "Over there's the wash racks." He pointed his finger at a door at the side of the gym. "Go take care of that." While Zapper shuffled off, the others of the group were staring at his retreating form. "Did I say you could take a break?!"

In the wash racks, Zapper sobbed as the cool liquid ran over his damaged hand and into the long sink in front of him. Now what? The fingers were hanging from his palm loosely and it hurt more than anything he had ever experienced. He usually wasn't someone to cry easily, but this was too much. He was bleeding badly, which made him feel dizzy. Tears ran down his cheeks, he felt ashamed of himself for crying like a sparkling. He heard the door open. So it wasn't enough to humiliate himself with crying, another also had to witness it. He quickly wiped his optics with his intact hand.

"You okay?" It was Sliceline. He stepped closer, trying to catch a glance at what the younger bot was hiding over his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"You were crying, weren't you."

"I wasn't!" Zapper drew aside. He didn't need the other mech to boast in front of the others how the new one had been in the wash racks, crying like a wimp. Sliceline followed him.

"Your hand is hurt. Let me see it."

"What for?"

"I can help you." The younger mech retreated to the room's corner.

"So now you're a medic, huh?" His voice was like acid when he spoke. He knew his condition wasn't Sliceline's fault, but his anger would hit the first bot he saw, no matter who it was.

"No. But I can help you." Reluctantly, Zapper let his hand be pulled out from under his left arm for inspection. Sliceline frowned, turning it over in his own hands, surveying the damage. "'Crusher's a real afthead, going so hard on a new one. Hold on, this will hurt a bit." A bit was clearly underestimated. The screams must have been audible in whole Kaon when his fingers were popped back into their sockets. Afterward, he could move them again, but it felt like glowing spikes were being driven through the joints. And he was still bleeding. The bigger mech remedied that quickly with pressing a small welding torch he was carrying in his subspace compartment to the slashes, sealing them off painfully. Zapper sniffed, then received a gentle pat to his shoulder.

"Listen. We'll go back to the others now and we'll trade places. You'll go train with Juxta, that's the brawny, dark blue one, he's alright. I'll go and have a word with Bonecrusher." The green mech nodded before following Sliceline back out.

All the young mechs of the group stared at them when they returned from the wash racks. Zapper went to pair up with Juxta as he had been told while Sliceline walked tensely past the coach, making a beeline for Crusher. The brown bot didn't have the chance to say something before a white fist landed a heavy blow in his face. He fell on his back heavily, only to have the older bot tackle and resume beating him. Zapper himself was shocked to say the least; he wouldn't have expected such brutality of the quiet and calm mech. The coach stood and watched almost contently as Crusher was being beat up. Sliceline didn't stop throwing punches at the latter, not even when his face was already bleeding energon furiously. The elder mech was throwing punches, hissing insults that made some of the younger ones cringe. The light colored mech drew back his energon- smeared fist back for another hit, but his wrist was caught firmly in the coach's hand.

"Enough." Sliceline was pulled off the smaller one roughly who rolled over, groaning and covering his abused face with his hands. After murmuring into his student's audio receptor and giving him a hard glare, the coach shoved him off to the other group they were sharing the "dormitory" with. They had to resume training, leaving no chance for Zapper and the others to watch what was happening further on. Only when Sliceline returned to their recharge room much later than everyone else did they see that he had obviously been no match for his opponents in the other group. Very slowly, the beat up bot crawled up to his usual recharging spot on the broad bench, curling up in a tight, shivering ball. One of his wings was bent backwards awkwardly, several gashes all over his legs and arms were bleeding.

Zapper flexed his damaged hand carefully. It hurt only slightly, still he knew that hadn't it been for Sliceline's treatment, he might not have been able to use it at all by now. He sneaked over to the white mech tentatively and sat down beside him, not quite knowing what to do. A small pale, reddish ocher mech, only little older than Zapper, but as he had seen way better at fighting, coaxed the portable welder out of Sliceline's subspace pocket and handed it to Zapper.

"Seal the wound. He's losing energon." He said, voice thin and barely audible. Zapper did as he was told (well, best he could at least) and continued helping the lean mech clean up the bigger one's wounds and treat his dents. Sliceline didn't speak, actually he was making no sound at all as they patched him up.

"Why have you done that?" The white and tan mech looked up. Orange optics met red ones and for a moment, there was silence. Finally, Sliceline spoke.

"Bonecrusher is an aft. I was actually just waiting for an opportunity to get back at him." The younger, green mech tried to once again seal off one particularly stubborn wound on the other's back and failed once again. Seeing he wasn't being successful, the ocher mech, whose name he'd heard was Wriggle, took the welder and shut the cut off instead.

"But you got punished."

"Punished?" Sliceline laughed quietly. "That was not a punishment. It was a promotion. I'm in the second group now. Oh and by the way, coach said eight of your group have their premiere tomorrow." Zapper frowned.

"Premiere?"

"The first fight" Wriggle said while trying his best to make Sliceline's scars disappear. "As soon as you've reached a certain stage of training, you have your first fight in the arena. The winner gets a new name and new armor. Well, relatively new."

"And... the loser?" Wriggle dragged his index finger across his own neck in a gesture of decapitation. Zapper gulped.

"You'll see for yourself anyway. Premiere's once a joor. It's an ugly show, but at least watching means half a day off."

"What about you guys? Have you had your premiere already?" Sliceline yawned, stretching his arms overhead.

"I've had it. Sliced my opponent's main energon line with a shard of his own armor. Hence the name." He motioned towards Wriggle with his head. "He hasn't."

"Weren't you scared?"

"Of course I was. Who wouldn't be? Time seems to stop when you're face to face with a mech who you know will try to kill you. The watching optics around you don't help. And if you've killed someone," he lay down, head resting on his dirty, woven lead blanket "when your first opponent's spark fades and is extinguished, a part of you goes with it. You'll never be the same bot again."

Wriggle spoke up again. "That's why we get a new name and a new look. We're supposed to forget who we were, to leave our old lives behind. We're supposed to have only one goal: to kill."

"But what if someone refuses to fight? I mean, what could they do?"

"That would be the most stupid thing _you_ could do. The last one who dared to disobey was, well... I'd rather not speak about it. Don't think too hard about it. Just try not to get slagged, that's all."

Zapper pulled his knees up to his chest. Looking at his own chassis, he saw minor dents, abrasions and chipped paint already and he'd only been here for a single light cycle.

"Well, whatever. I'm beat, I think I'll recharge now." he mumbled before turning to crawl off the hard surface and over to his resting place from the previous night. Before he got as far as to reach the edge though, his ankle was caught in a gentle, but firm hand. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Sliceline had sat up again and was now holding him by the leg.

"You can recharge here with us. The more mechs there are to warm each other, the better." Zapper smiled. He liked the prospect of not spending the night freezing.

It was with horror stricken fascination that Zapper watched the young mechs fight in the arena below. It was the second couple of the premiere. Although they were fighting for their lives brutally, their movements were still clumsy and not very well coordinated. The smaller one, Scuttle, was trying to avoid the heavy blows of his bigger opponent desperately, jumping about and sliding over the dirty metal floor to get out of the way in time. He hadn't as much as scratched the other mech, whom Zapper had seen in their room and at the gym but whose name he didn't know. They, like the couple before, had nothing but short energy knives as weapons. That was to ensure they really got close to each other due to the short range while fighting and to make the kill harder so they would have to stab each other more than once to make sure the other was dead, Sliceline had explained. It was a display of pure cruelty.

The elder mech was sitting beside Zapper, his faceplates blank as he watched the fight. The audience, consisting only of gladiators and their coaches, partially gasped, partially cheered when Scuttle managed to drive his knife into the other's shoulder. The bigger mech howled in pain, whirling around and smashed his fist into his opponent's side, sending him flying. Shaking, he ripped the short blade from his wound and approached the now unarmed youngling. Said youngling scrambled to his feet quickly and ran from his attacker. Unfortunately, he didn't watch his steps when he looked back and tripped over a leg armor piece one of the previous fighters had lost and fell.

The other mech was above him in an instant and for a moment it looked like the little blue one's fate was sealed, but before the bigger, orange and teal bot could grab him, he rolled aside, got up and jumped onto his adversary's back, gripping his helm with both flat hands and sending a magnetic shock into his processor. The taller youngling stumbled. The knives fell out of his hands and he tried to get his attacker off himself, but to no avail. Scuttle was, literally, holding on for dear life, fat tears smearing his white face. One of his arms wrapped around the thick neck in front of him while the other rose, claws extending, and thrashed down into the other's face, shattering optics and leaving a trail of deep, bleeding scratches behind.

The scream resounding in the large, circular amphitheater made Zapper's energon freeze in his fuel lines. For a click or two, it was quiet. Nobody dared to move, nobody dared to speak. Then, Scuttle flicked the damaged mech's head around, who now lost his balance ultimately and crashed to the ground, the smaller mech tumbling off of him. The nervous little youngling stood up yet again before picking up one of the knives, stepping behind the fallen one, bracing one foot against his broad back and pulling his helmet up with one hand so the other one's throat and thus his primary fuel line was exposed. He hesitated, though.

The mech beneath him was now crying, each sob shaking his grimy frame hard. His fear was blatant to a sickening point. Energon was running down his face, dripping onto the cold and hard floor below. With one powerful yank, Scuttle severed the other's throat with the knife he was holding. The pink fluid splashed onto the scratched ground, draining the dying mech of all life. He gurgled and twitched a few times, until after only a few clicks, he had bled to death and turned gray. Scuttle, now wearing an expression of utter horror, stepped back, the knife hitting the floor with a clattering bang. He looked at his own, energon- smeared hands. Most of the audience erupted into roaring applause. Sliceline, Zapper and a few other mechs of their group didn't make a sound, though.

Like after the first fight, the jet black mech, Shred, owner of the gladiator academy, stepped into the arena, took the young gladiator's wrist in his hand and lifted it to declare his new name. "MINDFALL!" he shouted into the crowd of gladiators with a voice that made Zapper shudder with dread. This mech scared him. His cold blue optics seemed to hold no emotion and the scars on his face only added to the eerie image. This was a cruel bot, he could feel it. Scuttle, no, now Mindfall, looked very uncomfortable as well. When Shred let go of him, he bowed to the elder mech stiffly before hastily walking to the performer's exit. Zapper looked around in the arena. He hadn't noticed the large group of femmes sitting across from them, chatting quietly. Why were they here? Obviously Sliceline had noticed him staring in their direction since he leaned over and nodded toward them.

"The femme division. They are kept in another part of the city. We're not supposed to have contact. They're more vicious fighters than one may believe." Zapper cocked his head to the side.

"Are there mixed fights? Femmes against mechs, I mean?"

"It's rare and it only ever occurs between top class gladiators. But when it happens, it's always a big spectacle."

"Have you ever seen one?" Sliceline shook his head.

"No. We're not allowed to watch the important matches. The seats are too expensive and besides, they're sold out anyways. If you ever see one, you'll be in it."

"That doesn't sound very enticing." Zapper focused back on the battle ground below, wrapping his arms around himself. The next couple entered. His optics widened. Wriggle was one of them. So that was why he hadn't seen him at all today. His opponent wasn't much bigger than him and just as lean as the ocher colored mech was, his once red armor so worn out it was almost completely silver except for a few spots. He didn't know his name though, only that he was rather quiet.

"No..." The bot beside him all but breathed. Zapper looked at Sliceline. He looked worried, staring at the two mechs taking their places.

"Sliceline?"

"That ain't fair!" He stood up abruptly and leaned over the railing. "Coach! COACH! Please, he won't have a chance!" One of the mechs at the VIP tribune stood up and shouted over to the complaining bot. It was the one who had separated Sliceline and Bonecrusher yesterday.

"Shut up and sit down!" The light colored mech punched the thick metal bar beneath his hand furiously.

"Listen to me! Wriggle won't stand a chance against _him_! This is murder! You-" Sliceline would have gone on if he now hadn't been faced with the business end of a plasma gun. He fell silent immediately. The other bots of their group, who had been kind of agitated during his rant, were now merely watching anxiously, an eerie silence overcoming the whole arena.

"Sit. Down." The coach didn't sound, nor did he look like he'd be joking. The angry young mech didn't miss that and obeyed. He wouldn't be of help to anyone if he was killed now. Slowly, he sat down with his dental plates grating against each other. Zapper didn't know why Wriggle would supposedly have no chance, but then again, he was the new one and didn't know much about his fellow 'students' in general. A look in Sliceline's direction made him feel like asking wasn't a very good idea right now. Wriggle himself looked outright terrified. He was shaking, watching his opponent closely, the knife clenched in his left fist. The other mech however did not show any emotion; he seemed perfectly calm although Zapper wasn't sure if that wasn't only facade. The stroke of the gong resounded in the huge, dome roofed room, signaling the start of yet another fight.

Wriggle started pacing, following no specific pattern, seemingly focused solely on staying on the move. The other mech stayed where he was, watching him. Suddenly, he disappeared, only to reappear close to the ocher bot and stabbing at him. Just by hair's breadth he managed to dodge it, his own blade stopping the attacking one before it could penetrate his chest armor. Wriggle stumbled backwards hastily, almost falling over his own feet. The once red mech disappeared yet again. His silhouette flashed at another location for a split click, causing his current rival to whirl around to face him, but just in that moment, he warped behind the other's back and... Wriggle screamed.

His legs gave out from under him and he hit the ground face first. His spinal column protruded from his back, it obviously had been broken with a single, knife aided punch. He was doomed. The standing mech said something, but it was too quiet for the audience to hear. A wail escaped Wriggle as he tried to drag himself away from the bot who would kill him in the next moments. He probably knew it was pointless, knew that there _was_ no escape, that this was the end for him. Zapper felt sick to the core when the audience cheered after it was over. And whatever the name of the bot who had killed Wriggle had been, it was now forgotten and replaced with the designation 'Trackdemon'.

Other fights followed, even some of the femmes had their premiere, but it all felt so numbing. Wriggle, the mech he had chatted with, who had helped him repair Sliceline and beside whom he had recharged just last dark cycle, was dead. He had been killed brutally. The worst part was that Zapper knew that he either would have to kill a mech of his own group in an equally hideous way or that he himself would be murdered. The thought alone made him want to curl up in a corner and cry until the world just ceased to exist. He didn't know if it was during the forth or the fifth fight that Sliceline lay an arm around his quivering shoulders.

It was late when Sliceline returned from training that evening. He wasn't as beat up as yesterday, but he still didn't look that good. Neither he nor Zapper spoke as they patched each other up; it was awfully quiet in general. Depression lay over their group like a heavy and poisonous blanket and even the usually so obnoxiously loud clique around Bonecrusher just sat there sulking. The 'winners' of the premiere were all sitting on their spots on the benches or on the floor, some just staring at their feet, some being reassured that they had not had a choice, that they had done this to survive and that it was alright. They seemed to find little comfort in that, though. They had lost friends today, through their own hands, bots who had been so much like themselves and who had just been murdered. Beyond this room, there was no one who would remember them or even grief.

"Is there really no way out?" Zapper asked quietly. The elder mech beside him shook his head solemnly while picking some dirt out of his knee joint, then looked up.

"Now that you mention it, there are three ways out of here. The easiest one is death. Also, if you're cunning, ruthless and commanding enough, you can become a coach, but if you do it won't be your decision. Besides, even they have to fight once in a while."

"And... the third?"

Sliceline's expression darkened. "They say that if you survive five hundred fights in the arena, you are free to go. Problem is that even the top gladiators manage around two or sometimes even three hundred at best. Not a single one has ever been released."

Finishing with the dents in his friend's back armor, the green mech pulled his knees up to his chest. "I don't want to be a murderer. I don't want to kill bots rendered helpless by my own brutality."

"It's either that or the Well of All Sparks."

"How can they do that to us!?" Zapper jumped up and shouted, hopping off the bench and pacing on the floor restlessly. "How can they treat us like some scrap that can just be used to make credits and then be disposed of! Don't they see we're living beings? Cybertronian citizens?" All the others were now looking at him. "They can't just hold us captive against our will and force us to kill each other! It's illegal! It's disreputable! And here I thought life on the streets was barbaric, but this! This is just... it's...-"

Sliceline sighed. "You know what? You're right. But what of it? Fact is that something which doesn't exist cannot be illegal. We don't exist. And no one cares."

"If we could only make it public..."

"Do you actually believe no one _knows_ about this, huh?" Mindfall inquired angrily. His new, red and gray armor was smeared with tears below his face. He looked very different from before, but his face was still unmistakable that of young Scuttle. "Bots _pay_ to see the fights. Us killing each other is exactly what they want to see! What do you want to do? Start a revolt? That won't bring anyone back from the dead."

"No, it won't." Zapper admitted, but still wouldn't give up that easily. "But it could bring an end to this madness. Prevent others from even having to endure it. We-"

"Know what I think?" Bonecrusher stood up and closed in on him, trying to intimidate the smaller mech. "I think yer wetting yer armor now that ya know what's awaiting ya. You've only just had a little taste of pit, but ya have no idea what we've gone through. Yer only trying to trick us into risking our lives to save yer sorry hide and-"

"Oh shut up, dumbaft." Sliceline intervened. He wasn't in the mood for listening to this idiot rant when he himself had nothing intelligent to contribute.

"This is not about me." The green mech in the middle of the room continued. "It's about _all_ of us. All those who had to die already, who have died today and who will be the next victims of this insanity. We _must_ find a way to stop it!" Bonecrusher gave him a long and hard glare. Then, after hissing through his dental plates lowly, he went back to his spot beside Mindfall.

"You talk big, but it won't be of any use. It's hopeless; we're all gonna die here." Trackdemon said quietly, not even bothering to look up from inspecting his hands that had not long ago ended Wriggle's life. A pressing silence enclosed the room again. It was like they were accepting their fates by just sitting there silently. Zapper didn't know what to say anymore. What was he to tell a bunch of mechs who knew that, eventually, they would all be dismantled before their time had come? Whose certain fate was to kill and finally _be_ killed just to amuse a crowd of paying spectators? Furiously, he kicked a piece of rubble lying about so it bounced off the far wall and back onto the floor. There had to be a way! Curse this! Curse this whole dump with it's coaches, managers and its audience! Despair turned into pure hatred for the bots running and paying for this place as he thought about it.

"How can someone pay life itself so little respect! It's a miracle our world even exists and yet they keep extinguishing lives for their profits and amusement! There has to be at least _something_ we can do!"

"Just forget about it, newbie." This time it was Slaughtertop, a black and white, rather intimidating mech speaking. "There's no point in fuzzin' about somethin' you can't change." Shaking his head tiredly, Zapper sat back down by Sliceline's side, finally giving up- at least for now. There had to be a way out...


End file.
